


Panic Kiss

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Alternate Universe - Human, Anxiety Disorder, Cars, Claustrophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Grumpy Dean, Hate to Love, Holding Hands, Hurt Impala, M/M, Moving House, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, POV Dean Winchester, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:17:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Dean is helping his brother Sam move house. They're using two cars: Dean's superbly enormous '67 Chevy Impala, and a rodent of a Mazda belonging to a random friend of Sam's, some guy named Cas. Of course, Sam's legs are too long for the Mazda, so Dean ends up being the one crowded into the backseat of a car which was surely assembled in hell. A panic attack is imminent. And when it arrives, Sam's buddy Cas turns out to have a tremendous gift for soothing Dean's hysteria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to winglesschester for reading this over for me at a moment's notice!

“Is that everything?”

Dean sank back against his car, scuffing his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked past, flipping the house keys between his fingers. “Don’t be a jerk, Dean. I know you’re tired, okay, but this is the last trip. I’ll lock up now, then we’ll go. Is there anything inside still?”

Dean stuck his hands in his pockets, unable to remove the frown from his face. “Just your dickwad of a friend. I vote you lock him inside and call the cops when he breaks a window.”

Sam rolled his eyes again and sighed, shoulders sinking down. “ _Dean_.”

Dean harrumphed, glaring at the paving slab driveway under his feet. His stomach still clenched up whenever he thought about what Cas had done.

The dickwad in question eased himself out of the house not a minute later, and Dean eyed him and Sam as they communed under the overhanging porch. A butterfly travelled in gentle swoops between the two of them and where Dean stood, and he watched it whilst trying to untangle his inner knots. He didn’t want to drive angry, that was always a bad move.

“Yeah, that’s everything,” Sam said eventually, striding to Dean’s car with the doormat rolled up under his arm. “How’s Jess?”

Dean shrugged, careless.

Sam gave Dean his best stinkeye, passing again and heading for President Dickwad’s crappy excuse for a car. He lowered his head and smiled through the rolled-down window, handing his wife the doormat. “Hey, Jess. How’s it going?”

Dean heard the soft tones of Jessica’s reply: “Baby’s kicking again.”

Sam’s knees weakened a little, and Dean couldn’t help but grin. He looked forward to seeing the new family all shacked up in their dream house, even if it bothered him that they had to leave this one to get there.

Dean turned around and leaned his elbows on the roof of his car, ignoring the scalding heat that bled from the metal through his overshirt.

Memories of the house before him were going to haunt him in the best way. He would miss it.

Renting the place out to other people had to be the best choice they could make as a family. Their father John had been gone for so long he was nothing but a shadow in their photo albums, but their mother Mary’s presence still lit the walls like sunshine, both inside and outside. Last week, she’d clapped her hands together and made a decision for them, since Dean was too unconcerned and Sam too sentimental to let go and move on. Dean already had his own apartment, and Sam shared Jess’ new place, but they clung to their family home for the sake of having somewhere they could both put their feet.

Moving away felt like saying goodbye to memories they didn’t want to forget. That was why they weren’t selling; even Mary wanted to hold tight.

They were all a bunch of maudlin limpets, really.

They would come back one day. For visits, perhaps. They would do it when the garden got overgrown, or repaint the kitchen after the new tenants got too enthusiastic cooking tomato sauce. Maybe when Mary got older she would have her own place again, but while Jess and Sam needed Mary’s help with the new baby, she was going to live with them.

Dean sank his gaze from the sun-blanked windows with their gleaming lace curtains, and said a goodbye in his head. It was time to go.

Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder, hand lingering before falling away. “Come on. Everybody else has probably got the barbecue going at the new place, bet you don’t wanna miss that. Ellen hinted she might’ve brought pie.”

Dean smirked, meeting his younger brother’s hazel eyes as the sun made them shine. He didn’t have a second to reply before Sam added, “You sit in the back, I’ll take the Impala. I won’t scratch her, promise.”

Dean had so many immediate thoughts that he didn’t know where to begin. Hearing the word ‘scratch’ brought up a furious pang of acid into his throat, but the mere suggestion that he wasn’t going to be driving his own car made him dizzy. “What?!” he managed, hoarse and breathless. His throat felt tight.

Sam looked at him gently, distracted by the sound of the other car starting up. “I have to take the Impala. My legs won’t fit in Cas’ Mazda.”

“ _Wh_ ― But!”

Of course. Because Sam was a giraffe. Dean could have given a snappy quip about serengeti goats, but his mind was rife with realisations: there was no space in the Impala, not with all the furniture in there. Jess had the passenger seat of the Mazda because her inflated belly wouldn’t fit anywhere else, and if Sam drove the Impala, that meant there was only one seat left.

Dean’s eyes magnetised to the box-sized backseat of Castiel’s white Mazda 121. It got smaller as he stared.

And as he stared, the horn beeped. Cas was waiting in the driver’s seat, ready to go.

“I’m not going in there,” Dean growled, grabbing Sam’s arm before could abandon him. “Not with him.”

“Dean, there’s literally no other space. He’s not a bad guy. He’s the only one of my friends who actually showed up to help today, which says a lot about him, don’t you think?”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, like _that’s_ meant to be a redeeming quality. He’s the only one dumb enough not to skip out.”

Sam shot Dean a warning glare. “He’s decent. Look, Dean― _No_ , don’t argue with me. What he did to your car wasn’t his fault. If you’d parked closer to the house it wouldn’t have happened, so don’t take it out on him.”

Dean disagreed, but Sam laid a hand firmly on his shoulder to keep him quiet as he went on, “Just get to the new house in one piece, and then you can stew in your misery. But don’t _upset_ the guy.”

The Mazda’s horn honked twice more, and Dean began to fume, teeth gritting hard enough that his jaw clicked.

Sam sighed, patting Dean once more before stepping back. “Go on.” He swiped a hand towards the dumpy little vehicle. Despite his boundless annoyance, Dean did try to settle himself, easing away some of his tension as he walked over to the car.

“Keys!” Sam shouted, and Dean had to give them up. He tossed them ten feet over the driveway, and Sam caught them in one hand before waving.

Dean kept looking, longing for the leather seats of his baby, but Sam was climbing inside, slamming the door, starting her engine. God, she was a beauty. Dean felt a deep, sorrowful discomfort, seeing her entire internal space crammed full of things that used to be inside the house. It all looked very wrong.

The car behind Dean beeped another demand, and Dean spun around, a yell of “ _What?!_ ” belted from his mouth.

Jess and Castiel sat in the two front seats, both wide-eyed and slightly fearful. Dean took a moment to swallow his irritation, making his shoulders settle and his fists unclench.

He could tell how irrational his upheavals of emotion were, but he couldn’t help it. He’d heard moving house was one of the most stressful parts of people’s lives, and it was true. It didn’t help that his most prized possession was being driven by someone other than himself, and now sported a colossal, paintless scrape down one entire side.

Despite the sunshine and promise of a cookout once they reached their destination, this whole day was turning out to be a sneak preview from Dean’s own personal hell.

Mind awash with riptides, he could only stand motionless in the driveway, breaths huffing like that of an angered bull, trying his best to hide the tremors in his fingertips. He was usually so good at keeping face, but today just seemed to be one of _those_ days.

When Castiel leaned out of the driver’s window, he seemed worried. His dark, spiky hair caught the light and turned brown, and his eyes squinted, but his mouth retained that flat line of emotion-free blankness that had been irking Dean all day. His throaty voice came from his stupid mouth, and he said, “We really need to go, Dean. Jess needs to eat, and we’ve run out of Capri-Sun.”

“Fuck your Capri-Sun,” Dean snarled under his breath. He felt incredibly unpleasant, like he’d forgotten to go to the bathroom, even though he had gone twice in the past half-hour. Sympathy for Jess’ pregnancy issues, Sam had called it, but Dean knew it was straight-up anxiety.

Sam honked the horn of the Impala from the other side of the driveway. His hair dangled long as he leaned out of his window as well. “Get in the car, will you! It’s almost seven!”

Dean took one complete breath, which seemed to fill him all the way to his toes. He let it out slowly, counting to five, eight, ten... twelve, fifteen.

He lowered his eyes as he made his way to the Mazda, not wanting to look at the prick who scratched his precious Chevy. He felt eyes on him all the way there; Castiel’s head was turning to watch him.

Dean popped the back door and sat down inside. There was a sideways desk chair with its wheels less than a foot from his face, all rattling due to the vibration of the engine; the sharp corner of a desk lined up with his thigh, and his seat was _cloth-cushioned_ , smelled like cat piss, and didn’t lean back far enough. His knees were hunched up against the pocket of the driver’s seat, which - as his luck would have it - contained what looked suspiciously like a collection of gay skin mags. His stomach was squashed, his shoulders felt upset, and his hair was touching the fucking _roof_. And the door wasn’t even closed yet.

This was going to get very bad, very quickly.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Castiel said from the front seat.

In his whiniest, most hateful voice, Dean sneered, “ _Whenever you’re ready_. Ugh, just get a move on, fuckface.”

He slammed the door and shut his eyes, head down as he forced himself to breathe.

He cracked open his eyes when he heard Jess make a concerned sound. “Dean?”

Dean glared at her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Jesus Christ, would you _drive_ this shitbag already?!” He headbutted the headrest of the driver’s seat, which thumped into Castiel’s skull.

“Dean!” Jessica snapped. Dean looked at her with an apologetic expression, but her stern eyes only got sterner. “Do _not_ interfere with the driving. Holy crap, what is wrong with you today?!”

Dean took a small breath, not eased at all by the fact that the car had started moving.

Sam pulled out in front, and Dean wrenched his attention off Jessica to watch it go. The sleek, black shape of his ‘67 Impala coasted into the road from the end of the driveway, and Dean did his best to pretend he was inside there instead.

Castiel was very quiet. His throat cleared once, more of a hint of a noise than an actual noise. Dean heard his hands sweeping his steering wheel as he turned the car, but other than that and the reedy sound of the engine, Dean heard nothing.

He let his breath go in a single whisper from his tightened lips, his forehead pressed against the seat in front of him. His hands slid to tuck between his denimed thighs, and in that position he could feel himself shaking. God, he was nauseous, his guts churning. He didn’t want to puke, but he did think about it. He worried about it, even. What would happen, how would they deal with that? He didn’t want it to happen. He swallowed again and again, urging himself to think of other things, but it was so difficult.

Now he was thirsty. There was no Capri-Sun, and no water. What if they broke down, what then? They’d have to find a fresh stream or something - and be poisoned by it, most likely. Or God forbid, they could knock on someone’s door and ask to use a bathroom. That thought made him as queasy as looking at the sandwich wrappers nestled against his shoes.

After a few minutes, Castiel’s low voice entered Dean’s awareness, barely audible over the rumble of the car. “―wanted to apologise,” he was saying. “Obviously I’ll pay for damages, any paint supplies or equipment you need. Sam told me you like to repair your own car, so... Uhm.” He paused. “Look, I― I’m really very sorry.”

“Yeah. Well,” Dean grunted. “Should’ve been more careful, asshole.”

Jessica’s voice was easier to listen to, but still had a note in it that made Dean’s nerves fray at the edges. “Be nice. It was an accident, Cas didn’t mean to.”

Dean screwed his eyes up tight, fighting to block her voice out. He just wanted peace, and no reminders about things he was already fretting over.

The car was blissfully free of discussion for a while - five minutes, Dean estimated. In that time, his stomach settled enough that the nausea was bearable, but not completely. Then Jessica sighed slowly, and began to speak.

“When we get home,” she said, “we’ll unpack, then have dinner. Or have dinner first, it depends on what everyone else is doing. Tomorrow we need to come back and shampoo the carpets, maybe try and do something about the lino in the bathroom. I can’t wait to tear it up, it’s been bugging me for years.”

Dean and Castiel made the same “Mm” noise at the same time.

Dean frowned, because that was _Dean’s_ noise. He wanted the monopoly on thoughtful responses; Cas shouldn’t be allowed thought, or input, or _anything_. Who was he, anyway? Some random ‘friend’ of Sam’s. Dean had never even heard of the guy before a couple of months ago, and now his own life was in the stranger’s hands, driving down the twistiest, turniest road―

Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Too twisty, too turny. He had to look out of the window or he would actually puke.

His head shot up, and he tried to absorb as much as possible. Trees, houses, little grass verges at the edge of the sidewalk. An old man walking a chocolate-coloured pug. He could see sunset on the horizon, but it was slanted with the ugly blue haze on the brow of the windscreen.

The buck of sickness settled, but then the grass verges petered out. The tarmac road turned to soft droppings from the pine trees overhead, the sun started to cut into sections, barred by the tree trunks as they drove. The light in Dean’s eyes flashed and flickered, and he was so fucking _trapped_ in here.

The walls were closing in, he was sure of it. The glass sloped more, the wheely chair slid into his shoulder when Castiel rounded a bend in the road. The desk was stabbing him, his hands were sweating between his thighs. He needed a open space, or somewhere - anywhere - that wasn’t here.

“Dean?” Jessica’s voice called. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Mmh,” Dean said, half-closing his eyes and trying to shut out the situation.

Window, he could open a window. He rolled the one on his right down quickly, and sighed at the new rush of loud air, howling and fluttering so much that his ears felt the hard pressure. He could hear Castiel saying something, but he didn’t care what; he needed oxygen.

He leaned back in his seat as far as he could, which wasn’t far at all. His lower back felt eased by the soft cushion... which, admittedly, was comfy to sit on. The fresh air smelled like pine and the settling dust of a beautiful summer evening.

This was much better. He could deal with this.

The good feeling didn’t last long. Ten minutes at the most.

The air started getting too cold; they were driving in shadow now. His face was going numb from the blasting chill, which was giving him tense shoulders, which was slowly becoming a headache. He had to close the window.

He did, and once it was closed, the pressure in the car changed again. He felt everything bearing down on him, the press of the sharp desk corner, the chair wheel that had skittered into his face. Castiel’s scent was all over the car too, Dean could smell that now. It wasn’t just cat piss, it was aftershave, and stale cake. He started getting angry again, because with three bodies in a small car full of crap, it was too _warm_.

His temperature rose, fury building. He needed a distraction.

He imagined a tiger running alongside the car, its paws sinking into pine needles, kicking them up as it passed. Its body was as swift as the air itself, muscular and streamlined.

It was calming. He wasn’t used to being a passenger, so he always saw the road ahead instead of the road to the side. The last time he’d imagined his tiger, he’d been a child. He smiled, glad to see a friend again.

But as always, the distraction didn’t hold. He started feeling car sick, which wasn’t something he felt often. This claustrophobia was too much. He was so tired of it, he wanted to stop and have it all over with.

Jess was still talking, Dean realised only now. Castiel was replying. Saying things. Saying things in his bland, toneless voice. Things that grated on Dean’s nerves, because every time Dean heard that voice, he heard the elongated, everlasting screech of the Mazda’s wing mirror on his Impala’s glossy black coat.

Dean’s fists refused to unclench. His breath refused to slow. His heart was pounding, his stomach was lurching about like he’d eaten something bad, and he honestly wanted to cry. He was a grown man, but that had no bearing on how hopelessly like a child he felt.

And then they turned another corner, ascended up a slope, and they drove back into sunlight. It was bright, a spark that hit the inside of Dean’s head and made him jump, and he was only given a moment’s grace before the car hurtled around another bend in the road, and the entire weight of items in the backseat shifted a foot closer to Dean. The chair’s wheel was in his face, the desk bruised his leg, and the space his body now occupied was half as small as the space he needed.

He shut down. His breaths sped, his limbs shot out to push everything away. He tried to break the window, unable to work out how to open it any more. He would climb out if he could, he would kick his way through the front seat if he could. Sam, he couldn’t see Sam, the other car was so much faster and had gone ahead. Dean was alone and crushed and he was _breathing too much_ , he needed a hand and a hug and he needed to punch something or some _one_ ―

Ah, there was the thing to punch. Castiel had opened his door. Dean hit him in the face.

He ran into the road, only to find he was collapsing into someone’s garden hedge. Hands surrounded his body, and Dean turned around on shaking, shaking legs, yelling out something he barely heard himself. Castiel’s eyes were blue. Dean lashed out, roaring for space, needing air.

Castiel wasn’t moving, he was still there, he was standing in the light, a wave of pine needles cascading in the breeze around him. His voice was gentle, but Dean couldn’t hear him.

_Look at me. Look at me, Dean. Shh._

Dean watched his mouth, wanted to punch it. Get away. Get away, get away.

“Dean, look at my eyes. Look at me.”

Dean snarled unintelligibly. He heard his own voice this time, and recognised that he was making no coherent sense. The bubble broke; he absorbed the rush of trees around him. Castiel’s eyes were still blue.

“That’s it, Dean. Well done. Okay. Shh-shh. It’s okay, you’re okay. May I touch you, would you allow that?”

Dean couldn’t answer; Castiel’s hands were already on his arms, holding him still. Dean nodded, moaning out a distended “Yeaaah,” unable to control his mouth. His sight was blurring again, the need to scratch someone’s eyes out was coming back. He tried to hit, but Castiel caught his hand before he could.

“No, Dean,” he said gently. “Here, hold my hand. Hold it? There. There, that’s my hand.”

Dean’s fingers felt other fingers, they weren’t his own fingers. Castiel’s fingers. Warm.

“Do you know where we are, Dean?” Castiel said. His mouth was pink, and had lines in it. On it. Lines. Downward lines, pink pink pink pink

_Side of the road, Dean. I pulled over. You’re safe. You’re okay. Breathe. Breathe in. Breathe in, Dean._

_That’s it. Hold it. One. Two._

“Three. Four. Five― Let it out. Slowly. Slow.”

Castiel’s eyes were blue. He had wrinkles; happy ones, not old ones. His eyelashes were the same dark colour as his hair, and were fanned out wide over his eyes.

“Breathe in through your mouth. One, two, three.” His chin tipped upward, taking his inhales along with Dean. “Out. Two, three.”

Dean’s legs were vibrating, he gradually became aware of his feet. His hands, too. Grasping Castiel’s.

Castiel’s thumb stroked Dean’s hand. “Keep breathing. In... Out.”

Castiel smiled.

Dean liked his smile. It was calming, like his hands.

“Look at my eyes, Dean.”

Dean didn’t want to.

“Are you reading my lips? Dean?”

Dean nodded. He was listening.

“How are you feeling?”

Dean swallowed, watching the tip of Castiel’s pink tongue wet his lips. “‘m okay.”

“You’re shaking.”

“‘m okay,” Dean said again.

“I’m... I’m going to hug you, are you all right with that?”

Dean breathed out, blinking extremely slowly. It was so difficult to think. “Mm. M-hm.”

He sighed as he felt arms press to his shoulders, a hand open on his back. He relaxed a bit.

The road around them was long, and there was oxygen everywhere. Dean inhaled, his whole body lightened by relief. Even with Castiel so close to him, arms pressed into him, it was very different to having his world be too small, the roof too low.

Dean let Castiel take his weight for a bit. He let his legs shake freely, vibrating like a newborn foal. His hands clenched into Castiel’s cotton t-shirt, his nose buried down into his shoulder.

Cas smelled like a person, not like his car. Dean breathed in deeply, calmed by his scent, mildly sweaty from the day’s work. Dean shut his eyes and inhaled, held his breath, exhaled. Slowly, so he didn’t get dizzy.

Castiel was rubbing his back.

Dean wanted to sleep. If Castiel was so inclined, Dean would have let himself be carried. But they kept standing there, breathing in and out together. The smell of pine trees was gentle on Dean’s overloaded senses.

Castiel chuckled after a while. Dean made a noise of query, and Castiel rubbed his back again, sighing against Dean’s shoulder. “Sam told me that this happens to you sometimes.”

Dean closed his eyes, resting the tip on his nose in the muscle of Castiel’s shoulder. “Hm.”

“I asked him about it, and he told me what to do.”

Dean made a crackly noise, but fought to turn it into words. “D- Did he tell you why? Why it haaaa - _hff_ \- ...happens?”

Castiel was still for a moment, then shook his head. His hair rustled against Dean’s.

Dean sighed, relaxing some more. “I d-d-don’t fuckin’ know either.”

Castiel laughed quietly, a hand skimming upwards to rest on the back of Dean’s head. Dean startled when Castiel began to massage his neck, a rolling thumb pressing the tense, rock-hard muscle there.

“Uh...?” Dean frowned in confusion, but found he was unwilling to pull away. “Cas, what’re you doing?”

Castiel paused. “Shall I stop?”

Dean let out a fast breath, which came out surprisingly shaky. “Um. No... Not unless you want to.”

Castiel pressed a gentle smile against Dean’s shoulder, and his fingers started working again. Dean made a soft sound of relief which he hadn’t meant to make, but didn’t bother to explain to Cas.

Without caring if Jess was watching from the car, or that Sam was going to wonder where they got to, Dean put his arms properly around Cas and squeezed. And he didn’t let go.

He couldn’t exactly hate the guy if he was hugging him. He smelled nice.

Dean didn’t think about anything. He just stood there and enjoyed it, letting Cas help him bring his body back under control.

Castiel stopped massaging after a few minutes, but kept his hand on the back of Dean’s neck to keep it warm. The sun was weak and slowly fading, the air still soft around them.

“Hey,” Dean said, feeling more like himself now. “I’m... sorry for losing it like that...”

“No. No, don’t apologise.” Castiel kissed Dean’s cheek. “It’s not your fault.”

Dean took a few seconds to put that together. Kiss included.

Weird.

Castiel’s hand got hotter at the back of Dean’s neck, and Dean could feel him shuffling his feet, embarrassed.

Dean considered that he should feel violated to some degree. But he really didn’t. It had been a very nice, simple kiss. Accompanied by nice words, too. Some part of him was even pleased by it.

Dean sensed that Castiel was in an awkward position now. He could pull away, at the risk of unsettling Dean, or he could stand here in a continued embrace, getting more and more uncomfortable and tensed-up.

Dean shook his head and pulled away so Cas didn’t have to choose. And as he pulled away, he couldn’t help but skim his lips over Castiel’s.

Well, maybe ‘skim’ wasn’t the right word.

‘Press’ might have been more accurate.

‘Smooch’ was probably more accurate still.

When Dean fell back a handful of seconds later, Cas’s cheeks were flushed with colour, blue eyes (very blue eyes) set wide, his straight mouth a little agape. His gaze dipped to Dean’s mouth, then to his eyes again.

Dean couldn’t fully grasp what was happening. Until a few minutes ago his prime purpose in life seemed to have been to _end_ this man, but now he kind of wanted his mouth. It had been an especially sweet kiss. Castiel leaned in and did it again.

Dean ducked away, fingertips on his lips. He still felt both kisses there, the press of a mouth and the tickle of stubble not yet fading.

“Did we seriously just...?” Dean breathed, eyes skipping back to meet Castiel’s. Cas looked as startled as Dean felt.

Castiel nodded gently. “I think we did.”

Dean gulped. “Is it good? Not weird?”

Castiel thought about it. Then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I... I think so.”

Dean swooped in and kissed him again. Castiel’s lips parted and he made a soft sound of surprised delight. Dean made one of his own, then pulled away once more.

Holy hell, this was definitely _not_ what he’d expected when they left the house.

Castiel took a step forward, and Dean was pushed to the side of the Mazda, Castiel’s hips against his own.

Lips. Kissing.

Okay, that was... wonderful. Like, really, really nice.

Dean shut his eyes and sighed, tilting his head.

Castiel’s hands held Dean’s hips, thumbs tucked under the hem of his t-shirt, nose nudging his cheek. Exploring, deepening the wave of touch, their lips smacked and parted, tongues meeting tentatively on the crest of lip and tooth.

Sunlight grazed Dean’s cheek for the last time before it reached the horizon and melted away to dusk.

Dean didn’t dwell on the thought that this guy was Sam’s friend. He was also hot, kissed well, and had turned Dean’s day from awful to... actually, not too bad at all.

Castiel pushed himself away by a hand on Dean’s chest, gasping. His tongue skirted his lip, eyes examining Dean’s face.

Dean grinned stealthily. “You know - I barely know you.”

“And I distinctly remember you promising to tear my innards out before the day was over,” Castiel remarked, somewhat breathless.

“Yeah.” Dean swallowed. “I... I guess feelings change?” he said, with an unsure shrug.

Castiel was admiring Dean’s lips. “Yes, I suppose they do.” His eyes flicked up to Dean’s, and Dean felt a burst of excitement. “As far as the fact that we barely know each other goes―”

“We have all night,” Dean nodded. “Barbecue dinner. And―”

“And days onwards,” Castiel finished. “Yes. Many days.”

“Or nights.” Dean’s breath caught as he realised what had slipped from his mouth. “I mean―”

“I accept,” Castiel smiled, before Dean could even redeem himself.

Dean smiled, shortly after. “Oh.”

Castiel smiled back. He did have a very lovely smile. His voice wasn’t as grating as all that, either.

A faint tapping came from the car, and Dean jumped away in fright. He looked down through the low window and saw Jessica squinting at them. She waved.

Castiel cleared his throat. Dean glanced at him, smirking when he saw how shamed Castiel managed to look, while at the same time appearing to have no regrets whatsoever.

Dean sighed. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Castiel looked over and inclined his head in a nod.

“I drive,” Dean said firmly, with a forceful finger shoved in Castiel’s direction. It wasn’t a suggestion, but an instruction.

Castiel chuckled with his chin to his chest, and he nodded before gesturing to the car. “Be my guest.”

Dean smiled widely, and made his first steps across the pine-scattered ground, passing Castiel as he went. He looked back once, and caught the other man’s eye. Oh, how very blue his eyes were. He was gorgeous, Dean wasn’t sure why he never saw it before.

He watched Castiel clamber into the small backseat, limbs folded up, head down to avoid the low roof. Dean didn’t know how he himself had ever survived so long in the same space.

He made his way for the driver’s seat, thinking to himself. He was certain he would never tell anyone this, but if he was perfectly, completely honest, a paint scratch on his car was a small price to pay in exchange for that impromptu make-out session with Castiel. Hell, Dean would even let him scratch the car again if it meant he got another kiss and a hug like that one.

...That was probably a gross overstatement. But it wasn’t strictly untrue.

He got into the car and drove the horrible little Mazda back into the road, smiling as they chased the sunset. Jessica didn’t say a damn thing.

Dean saw Castiel’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. He had wrinkles. Very happy ones.

Dean did, too.

{ _**the end**_ }

**Author's Note:**

> Things I hate:  
> » small cars.  
> » panic attacks.
> 
> Things I love:  
> » Dean and Cas.  
> » hugs.  
> » Dean and Cas having accidental make-out sessions.
> 
> I figured I could make a good thing out a bad situation.  
> (Although I will note that hitting the kudos button if you liked the story would _definitely_ make a good situation even better...)
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr rebloggy thing that links to this fic](http://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/72778158314/is-that-everything-dean-sank-back-against-his)


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